


Vampires Never Have to Complain (Even When They're Demons)

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cannibalism, Demons, Gore, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dallon gets possessed by a demon that wants to eat people.Don't read if you get triggered by self harm, suicide, or just generally dislike goreI'm so sorry





	Vampires Never Have to Complain (Even When They're Demons)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags okay like I'm not kidding this is really bad like don't read if you get triggered by self-harm or suicide or dislike a lot of gore or anything really because geez what is this nightmare I wrote at two in the morning.   
> Also bear in mind this hasn't been edited bc it's two in the morning so there will probably be some random tense changes. Feel free to correct me, but keep it civil plz

Dallon on tour with panic. Vices era

Dallon was kinda hungry. It had been a long day on the bus, and all Dallon wanted was to eat something. Maybe a cheeseburger would be good, but Dallon wasn't that fussed.

The moments just after a show were always kind of a haze, as the adrenaline sent them off the stage and back to dressing rooms, all smiling wildly. Dallon was positively beaming, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he shook off the last of the after-show excitement. He was vaguely aware that he was hungry, but that could wait.

Dallon thought maybe he wasn't eating enough. He was hungry all the time, even though he felt like he was eating fine, maybe even more than usual. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned, but he knew that touring, with erratic sleep schedules and all, was bound to do some strange things to his metabolism. Not that it had ever happened before, but, hey, there's a first time for everything, right?

It really wasn't fair. Dallon knew for sure he was eating plenty, knew he was eating what he would normally consider a huge amount. So why was he still so damn hungry? He sighed, apparently loudly enough that Brendon perked his ears up.  
"What's eating you?" he said, and Dallon smiled at his word choice.  
"More like what I'm not eating. Maybe I'm not eating enough protein or whatever, but if my stomach keeps growling the way it is, I might end up having to eat you guys." Dallon realized a second after he finished talking how weird that sounded, and laughed nervously, and was relieved when Brendon joined in, big guffaws between bigger gulps of air. So why did he still feel so uncomfortable?

As tour continued on, Dallon would find himself staring at Brendon, and thinking about how satisfying it would be to sink his teeth into a leg muscle or maybe his liver or maybe he could even make sausages and how nice it would be and... Dallon would find himself thinking these things and feel disgusted with himself. He puts it up to stress, and hunger, and sleep deprivation. He had been a little cranky recently, and he should probably try to sleep a bit more, instead of staying up with Brendon. Honestly, it was his own fault, he knew what staying up late did to him.

Spencer would probably be the better target. To some extent, he was stronger than Brendon, but Brendon was faster, and Spencer could be caught by surprise more easily. It would be so easy to just grab a knife and head to the lounge.

Dallon really needed to get more sleep. Maybe he'd buy some Ambien.

Spencer and Dallon were alone on the bus. Brendon had gone out somewhere, though Dallon wasn't paying enough attention to know where, and wouldn't be back until late. That was good, meant he had time. Dallon jumped, no, pounced, because this wasn't Dallon, not really, this was some animal, some starving animal looking for prey.  
Spencer was pinned against the ground, confused, shocked into silence by the knife in the creature's hand. He drew the knife across Spencer's wrist, in lieu of his usual claws. He lifted the wrist to his mouth and just fucking drank and it was so good, like a drowning person drawing in a breath of air, needing the fucking blood, because he would have died and why did it take that idiot so long to just let him.

Dallon ripped his mouth away from Spencer's bleeding wrist. What the fuck? Why would he do that? He straightened up with widened eyes. Spencer was still bleeding, his eyes widened in horror.   
"Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Spence, I'm sorry, I'll, first aid kit, shit shit shit, fuck, sorry." Dallon sputtered, going to grab the first aid kit. He carefully cleaned the wound with alcohol and bandaged it up, all the while apologizing. Spencer seemed to have regained control of his vocal chords, and used them to ask a pressing question.

"What the fuck? Are you, I don't know, a fucking vampire or some shit? Like seriously, what the fuck?" Spencer Smith always knew what his priorities should be.  
"I don't know. I really don't know."

Spencer had been avoiding him, which Dallon totally understood, but maybe if he wasn't Dallon would stop feeling like total shit about it. And to top it all off, he was feeling hungry again. And he didn't want that situation again. He was dangerous, and he shouldn't be allowed near people. But it wasn't like he could just run away.

People would miss him, he was sure, but the fact that people liked and wanted to be around him was the reason he had to do this. He didn't think he was a terrible person or anything, he just didn't want anyone to get hurt. That was reasonable enough. The way Dallon sees it is someone finds his body, they're upset for a bit and then they move on. People generally do. And he would even leave a note telling them that it wasn't their fault, and apologizing to Spencer about the... incident.  
Dallon was rather proud of his plan.  
He decided to do it at night, so there was less risk of someone finding him. He had snuck a knife into his bunk, and he had waited.

Dallon pressed the blade slowly into his skin, wincing. Maybe it was more like whipping off a plaster, and he should be doing this faster, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He sliced down into his skin and saw it bleeding, and licked his lips. He made another cut, and the creature couldn't stop itself, dropping the knife and licking and sucking over the wound, just wanting the blood, and oh god, it was as good as the first time, it was so good when he finally gave in, and the wait just makes it all the sweeter, and Dallon pulled his mouth away from the cut, and got the first aid kit. He wasn't hungry anymore, which he supposed was good, but he just drank his own blood, and that's messed up. It feels somehow more messed up than drinking Spencer's blood, which felt pretty fucking messed up, let's be serious here, but it felt wrong. It was him, and isn't that self cannibalism? And Dallon won't kill himself now, not now he knows there's an alternative, but he sure won't feel good about any of this.

Dallon carries on doing it. He doesn't feel good about it, but he does because it's better than fucking murdering his band mates or whatever, so he carries on. Once or twice a week, without fail, Dallon cuts into his arm, and drinks, and everything is fine. It's all fine.

Dallon knew he had probably been acting weirdly lately, but he must have been acting weirder than he thought, because Spencer told Brendon. Why he hadn't earlier, Dallon didn't know. Dallon didn't know why he chose now, but he clearly did because then Brendon was talking to him and he didn't fucking know what to say. Brendon finished talking, looking both concerned and scared, and Dallon can't take this. He felt overwhelmed and he was hungry again and he couldn't hurt Brendon, wouldn't let himself, so he ran into the bathroom and locked the door, collapsing into it. He pulled out a pocket knife he had taken to carrying with him, in case the urge struck unexpectedly, as it so often did. Dallon slit his wrist and drank, all the hesitance gone as he just let go and let the relief wash through his body. It needed more though and started biting at the wound, now sharpened teeth tearing though flesh and it swallowed and if blood was good, this was better, this was amazing and it was all it ever needed and he just ate small chunks of skin and the tendons underneath and washed it down with blood and the door opened.  
Dallon looked up and knew it was worse. He could feel the drying blood around his mouth as he looked into Brendon's eyes. 

Brendon drove him to the hospital, not speaking a word. Dallon knew he was out of the band at this point. He was too messed up for them. 

The nurse asked him how it had happened, and before he had time to answer, Brendon had jumped in with 'some rabid animal'. Dallon nodded, slightly shameful, though he was tempted to shake his head out of spite for the snide look Brendon shot him.

Dallon kind of figured this would happen, though at least he wasn't leaving until the end of the tour, where they would spout some shit about creative differences and never talk again. One more show, then he's out of the band.

Dallon is nervous. Not for the show, though that would make sense, but because he hadn't drank for a while, being in hospital and all.

Dallon was doing good, not listening to the little voice telling him to eat. He was so hungry. He might die before the end of the show if he didn't do something.

He walked towards Brendon. It's just a stage gay thing, right? He bit into Brendon's neck, vampire style and Spencer tried to pull him back and just got his neck broken for his efforts. The security was pretty crap, or maybe he was just too fast for them. It drank their blood and he ate their flesh but somehow it still wasn't enough so he tore at his own wrists again as security dragged him off the stage. They shocked him with a taser and he just twitched.

He woke up in a jail cell, scratching at an itch he couldn't see in the dark.  
He had bandages over something so he took them off and it was blackened and he pulled his vein out of his arm and ate it like spaghetti and then he clawed at his face with his remaining hand and he died laughing and scratching out his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh what monstrosity have I gifted the world


End file.
